A new animal
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: "He knew when he made that deal that there would be a price to pay for saving Sam. He knew that Hell wasn't going to be a picnic, but he never could have prepared himself for what he faces every day." Dean's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: Sharlot, you wanted Hell! Dean, you got it. Huge thanks to Dorothy for beta-ing this for me! Spoilers up to S4, this is dark and horror, look away if you don't like any of that. Dean's second part of this will be posted soon. Rated for language and not very happy images. Thanks as always for reading!**

He's afraid. Not the type where he can close his eyes and count to ten and wish the monsters away, but the type where his whole body trembles with fear.

He has spent the majority of his short life believing he was invincible, that no matter what sort of shit he found himself eyeball to eyeball with, he would come out on top in the end.

That illusion, that arrogance, was shattered the moment that hell hound gripped his foot and dragged him off the table. The only thing he could do was scream until the pain ended, as his flesh was torn apart as if he was nothing more than a paper doll. From that moment on, the only emotion he has known is fear.

And now he is in Hell.

And every single fucking moment that he believed was terrible in life seems like a damn picnic as it is turned on its head and replaced by the agony he feels now.

He screams, bellows, pleads and forces pathetic noises out of his mouth in a futile attempt to calm himself. Sam wouldn't come, Sam couldn't come. It sinks in slow and deep. He is completely and utterly alone.

There is no time in Hell, no hanging clock to let him know that any measure of this torment had passed. He rears up against the chains, grimaces against the God awful noise of bone meeting metal. He doesn't know how long had passed, how long he has been hanging there like a raw piece of meat, crying out for Sam, Dad, God, anything or anyone that would listen.

It could have been lifetimes.

When he has lost the strength to fight against the restraints, he counts in his head, reaches one hundred and jerks his weight from side to side once more as he tries to ignore the fresh tears that open up in every single part of him.

He curses and pulls once more.

Without warning he is on a rack, still strapped, but bound to a solid object now.

"What the…?"

He tries to crane his head to see who has placed him here and a chill runs along his spine. He can feel the vileness of the evil son of a bitch that is responsible.

He sees a flash of white, razor sharp shark-like teeth before a sinister chuckle reaches his ears. "Winchester, party of one? Been waiting for you boy."

* * *

><p>There is no relief. Not a second of peace or joy or anything that Dean can hold on to. The only thing that is keeping some sort of sanity within him is his memories. He replays the best ones in<br>his head, holds onto them even as knives and razors and some weapon he doesn't even have a name for drills mercilessly into his bones.

He knew when he made that deal that there would be a price to pay for saving Sam. He knew that Hell wasn't going to be a picnic, but he never could have prepared himself for what he faces every day.

There is no escape, no way to leave if only for the briefest of moments, there is only this. Only terror, as it takes up every breath that shudders from his chest. Somehow, even when he doesn't have a chest anymore; when there is nothing left but clumps of tattered skin and bones that have long since snapped like twigs, he still breathes. Somehow he still rasps for air. Air that he can't even feel anymore.

At the end of each and every day, at least what he can interpret as the end, when there is nothing left, that damn demon stands in front of him. When the simple act of lifting a hand to his face to try and wipe away some of the blood has him skimming pieces of his skull away, Alistair stands before him. He just stands there, brimming with glee at the destruction he has created.

"Looking good Dean. How you feeling?"

He doesn't have lips but somehow he answers. "Peachy."

"Never been better right? Well I have a question to ask you." He pauses and leans on the rack his mouth inches away from Dean's gushing ear.

He knows the question. The same damn one it always is. The same trade, the same deal Dean knows he can never take, no matter how strong the temptation.

"You'll have to speak up, bad ear." He chokes and the demon to the left of him laughs.

"I can cut you into itty bitty bits and pieces and somehow you still manage to keep your wit. It's really quite impressive."

Dean doesn't respond; he's too busy trying to think of a hunt, any hunt where he has hurt worse. He fails.

"So what do you think?" Alistair lays the flat of the razor on what remains of Dean's cheek. "You ready to play with Daddy's toys?"

"Shove it...up your..." he pulls some of the blood back into his mouth with a shallow gasp. "Ass."

Alistair flips the blade around to the other side and taps it against his temple. "Well just thought I'd ask."

"Save your demon breath ugly. The answer is," Dean pauses, looks his black-eyed tormentor straight on and spits the remainder of the blood in his mouth directly into his smug face. "No."

Alistair smirks as he wipes away the blood. "Guess we will just have to try again tomorrow." He pats the bone sticking out of his victims shoulder and Dean is magically whole again. "I'm not giving up on you Dean."

* * *

><p>It has to end. Right? At some point it will happen and he will just cease to exist. His soul will just poof out of Hell and he can be done. It has to end.<p>

This day has been particularly awful. Alistair was pissed off when he had refused him this time and he spared no expense as he made him pay. When he was through, there had been no blood left in his body, no skin left to cover him and even his bones had splintered. There were no words to describe the hurt that shakes his frame.

Suddenly, as with the end of other every day, he had been whole and Alistair quoted his spiel again. "We have all the time in the world, we have all of eternity son, and you'll get it eventually. Sweet dreams."

He couldn't take another day like that.

An arm was shaking him awake the voice urgent and flooded with concern.

"Come on Dean, wake up!"

His eyes fly open.

"What? You...what?"

"My God, what did they do to you?" Gentle hands outline the structure of his binds, searching for any weakness.

"You...can't be here. How?"

The eyes he knows so well crinkle with compassion. "I had to. I couldn't just leave you."  
>And it's so true and real and wonderful that he has to swallow a sob. "I'm glad you..." his voice shakes as he grips onto the other man's hand. "Didn't listen."<p>

His brother smiles at him. "Guess I picked it up from you."

Dean laughs and he could care less that it's so foreign to him now that it hurts his chest.

Sam grabs onto his shoulder, his other hand slicing through the tie on his wrist.

"Come on man, get the other one. Then we can get the hell out of here."

"Thanks Sammy." He reaches his free hand for the knife clutched in his baby brothers fist.

"I'll never give up on you Dean." His brother smiles widely at him as the blade slices through his palm.

"What the hell Sam?" Dean cries. He watches horrified as Sam's face morphs into Alistair's.

He feels the flutter of hope die in his chest.

* * *

><p>Please God, make it stop. Please God, make it <em>stop<em>.

His persecutor slows and pulls away from him.

"You don't seem to be as engaged in this as you usually are."

Dean grunts in response.

"Should we take a time out? Give you time to recover?"

Please..._please_.

"I honestly want to know your opinion. I'm not a slave driver; you can tell me if I'm pushing you to hard."

Dean groans low in his throat and tries to speak. It's difficult what with the gaping hole where his tongue once was.

"What's that? You have to speak up."

Please..._please_ stop.

"Well then if you are sure you don't need a break." The demon shrugs his shoulders and picks up a needle.

Dean hangs his head and screws his eyes shut.

_Please_.

"I admire your perseverance. It's going to come in handy someday."

Please don't let him be right.

* * *

><p>He's been hanging on the proverbial edge for what feels like a lifetime. If he thought the torture was terrible, the utter void of being alone was worse. He is surrounded by high pitched screams<br>of terror and the sick sound of souls being altered. He's given up struggling days ago.

Is it days...it feels like years...?

He's suspended on the frame, whole in nothing but his body.

He blinks, willing the tears away from his eyes and then Alistair is in front of him.

"Hey Dean, I do apologize for all of the neglect. There were certain," he pauses and strokes a hand on his chin. "Errands that I needed to see to. But I'm back now. And I intend to make up for lost time."

He pulls a razor from within his pockets. "After all it's not like I'm your father."

The statement stirs something up in Dean. Something he thought was gone.

"Shut up."

"I'm not saying I didn't like the man cause he was a peach." The black eyed monster curls his tongue up around his teeth. "Sure did taste like one."

Dean feels his anger pull up short. "What?"

"Oh did I not tell you? Me and Papa Winchester go way back, he was my roommate for close to century."

"You...you're lying."

He shakes his head with a chortle. "Not a fan of that particular sin my boy."

"You were the one?"

"Don't look so surprised Dean, why do you think I was so interested in you?" He strolls over casually to the trapped man.

The razor slips from the creatures' fingers and into his gut.

"I wanted to see if you bled like a stuck pig, just like your Daddy."

Dean thrusts his body forward, a cry of rage ripping out of his chest. "You shut the hell up!"

When Alistair removes the blade he has a twisted, prideful smile painted on his face. "Now, we're getting somewhere."

* * *

><p>Alistair's torture tactics change after that day. Dean doesn't know what he has inadvertently given to his tormenter, but the day ends and begins with tales of what they had done to his Dad.<p>

Even after everything, after he has gotten to a point where he can't feel a damn thing, when he's covered in his own blood like some grotesque masterpiece that Alistair has put on display, he still feels rage. Blood boiling, upset at the thought that his Dad had been here. For him. Because of him.

"Your pop was one hell of a man Dean, took a lot to," He sighs and digs a nail into his arm. "Get under his skin."

"You don't know a damn thing about him you piece of shit!"

He leans in towards the breaking man. "He cried out for you Dean. You and Sam. He called out to the sons who abandoned him, left him down here to rot."

"Shut the fuck up!" Dean roars and yanks against his chains to catch a piece of the startled demon's face in his teeth.

Then, to his surprise, Alistair laughs.

Dean spits the flesh from him in disgust. "What the hell are you laughing about you bastard?"

The vermin wipes his cheek and smears the blood across his face.

With everything he has seen, it scares Dean that he still feels unease at the sight. "I said, what are you laughing at?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean. I think you are going to be my very favorite student." He states and then is gone, leaving Dean in the maddening darkness once again.

* * *

><p>He doesn't know how much more he can take. He can feel his soul, jagged and wrecked, pulling at the seams.<p>

He tries to hold onto the image of Sam, laughing as he pulls that stupid ugly ass decorations string. Sam, running in to keep him covered, silent and strong and so much more capable than Dean had given him credit for, Sam, dropping food on the bedside table with a grin, Sam, pulling his famous bitch face on numerous different occasions, Sam, holding his head above water for so long and not even knowing it.

God, he loves that kid. Hasn't cared about anything else more in his life. His current predicament should be a testament to that.

The image in his mind warps. Sam, stabbing him. Sam, telling him he hates him. Sam, lying to him. Sam, standing in front of him with black eyes and a grin that just screams out 'evil son of a bitch.'

He tries to fight it, knows it isn't really Sam. He knows this is the new part of some sick game that Alistair is playing; to use a pathetic manipulation of his brothers' form to hurt him.

And goddammit, it works. The real images and memories of Sam fade away to be replaced by this fake Sam; by this monstrous perversion of his brother; by this terrifying shadow of the dark side that Dean was always afraid might win out in the end. A fear he had never put into words.

Its days or months, maybe even years by the time he can't even remember what the real Sam looks like. Was he funny? Smart? Kind? Did he have blue eyes? Green? Hazel?

All he can see now is black as night eyes and a blade that gleams with his own blood.

Sammy. They've taken Sam away from him.

What does he have left?

* * *

><p>Their names become a mantra in his head long after he can't remember a single thing about them.<p>

He can't remember why they are important just that they are. He needs to keep thinking about them. He needs to hold on tight even if he can't see what he holds. They are precious.  
>Alistair uses the words against him. Twists everything good about who they were to him and bends and breaks it until he can't hold on to anything anymore. The names become jagged pieces that cut into him and slip out of his fingers.<p>

That is the day he almost breaks.

"Take me off."  
>Alistair stops his constant tirade of venom and poison and smiles slow and deliberate at him. "Off?"<p>

He shudders. "Yes. Off. Off this terrible death rack. OFF!"

"Have you forgotten who makes the rules here?" He chuckles as he licks a line of blood off of his hands.

"You do. So give me the goddamn knife. I'll show you what I can do."

He looks at the tormented man on the rack, regarding him warily before he replies. "Finally."

He can't stand, can't do much other than gulp in harsh breaths and lean against the same device that has ruined him.

"Easy there son," He eases an arm around his victim. "You haven't had to stand in almost thirty years, take it easy."

Dean knows deep down that he should be shoving away from him or at the very least causing him pain, but it's a place to rest.

If only for a moment it's a place to rest.

* * *

><p>"Okay! Okay!" He pants, tears mixing in with the crimson that is tracing lines down his distraught face.<p>

Alistair pulls away from him. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Enough." He sobs. "Enough. I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want, just stop….God just stop."

Alistair tsks and shakes his head. "Now how do I know you're not going to pull a fast one on me again? Chicken out when you step up to the plate."

Dean shakes, his whole being protesting what he is putting it through. "I will, I promise, I'll do it. I'll do it." He whimpers.

Alistair reaches up to loosen one of his binds. "No turning back this time Dean, you have to go all the way."

His hand drops limply to his side as the demon places the razor into his open palm.

"Don't disappoint me son."

Dean jerks his head from side to side. "I won't." He grips the blade tight and starts as a terrified girl appears in front of him.

He cranes his head around to clash gazes with Alistair. The demon looks proud and happy as he nods towards him.

"Please, oh God, please." The woman whimpers before him, her bottom lip trembling, her blue eyes barely visible through a veil of tears.

"I'm sorry." He mutters as he looks at the blade he is turning over in his hand.

"You don't have to do this…you can," Alistair's hand flies out and catches her in the mouth.

"You can do this Dean. Don't think, just cut."

Dean convulses, almost dropping the weapon in the process. "I don't, I can't…You…"

Alistair presses the blade tighter into the man's hand. "Don't you do it. Don't you fail me."

He cringes and feels like he must be going insane because the voice of Alistair just sounded suspiciously familiar.

"I don't think I can," His argument is cut off as he is swung around to face the blubbering woman.

"You can and you will." He forces his hand up towards her gut.

"No, you can't ask me to do this,"

"Please, please, I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me." She weeps.

**"Do it Dean." **

"Come on Dean; let's get this show on the road."

**"What the hell were you thinking Dean?"  
><strong>

"We don't have forever…well, we do but,"

**"You mess up and me and your brother are dead, you got it?"  
><strong>

"Just close your eyes and do it."

**"For God's sakes Dean can't you do anything right?"  
><strong>

"That's it. You're doing good."

**"You know what important son, the mission is. If you can't stay focused on that, maybe you should just follow your brother."  
><strong>

"Almost there."

**"If your brother turns you have to kill him. You **_**have**_** to."  
><strong>

"Don't you want to make her stop? Her stupid, whining…"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

**"I went to hell for you and you couldn't even keep Sam alive?"  
><strong>

"STOP IT!" He hollers as the blade in his fist sinks into her flesh.

She lets out a cry that can't be heard over the din of Dean's screams as he cuts into her again, and again….and again.

Alistair beams. "One down."

* * *

><p>He can't recall who he is. What is his name? Why is he here?<p>

Does any of that matter? He has purpose. Cut, slash, maim, carve, slice and dice.

And he's a fucking master.

Someone….someone who doesn't mean a damn thing to him anymore once told him he was dumb. Jokingly? Who cares?

Learning curve?

He twirls the wicked, arched edge in his hand, tossing it back and forth as he smirks.

He's looking at his right now.

He makes art with it. Red splashes against him like a copper tidal wave and the cries that reach his ears are beautiful. The pure desolation that he causes with his own hands is greatness.

He knows that much.

Alistair pats him solidly on the back as his face splits into a grin. "Gold star for you grasshopper."

So he doesn't know who, or what he is anymore. But his master is proud of him, pleased with his progress, and that's all that really matters.


	2. Rescue

**A.N.: So here is part two of 'A new animal.' Cas' POV as requested by Sharlot. I thought it was fitting to post this on All Saints Day. I hope you like it Kat! Also, thanks so much Dorothy for being a beta…again. You should get paid for the work you do, seriously! : P Hopefully heartfelt thank yous will tide you over until then :) Spoilers up to S4.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. :(**

He wonders what the importance of this one man is. How is it possible that this one man is worthy of reprieve from the pit while so many others are to remain? What makes him so deserving?

He wonders, but never asks. It is not his place to question the will of God.

He storms into Hell with an army of angels, each one set on the task at hand; each one focused on their one singular purpose. To save this one man.

The demons; the screaming, howling and braying beasts are everywhere. Castiel surges forward and puts them out of their misery, one by one. The smart ones, or perhaps the cowardly, slink back into the shadows and disappear. He brandishes his sword and levels it into the face of a once human soul; a soul that has forever been tainted and twisted and shadowed in eternal blackness.

"Where is Dean Winchester?"

The demon quakes. "Winchester? Winchester…I have never,"

Castiel presses the point of the sword right in between his ebony eyes. "Keep your lies for yourself and your kind, tell me where he is. Now"

The demon lets out a squeal and points a shuddering digit in the direction behind him.

He races past the creature and prays that he is not too late.

* * *

><p>He has slain what feels like thousands as he approaches the thick, steel doors.<p>

He turns back towards his fellow angels and fills with pride as they fly to his side and press all of their strength into the door.

The door gives a whine of protest and then swings open.

Castiel is horrified by the sight before him. A young man's soul is tethered to the rack weeping as his tormentor runs the blade down his arm. His mutilated arm.

"Please…oh God please stop." The soul cries.

His tormentor laughs, but it is a cold, humorless sound. "Sorry son, there is no God here."

Castiel realizes with an almost tangible jolt that the demon that stands before him is Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester has shed blood, his mission is lost.

"Dean Winchester, stop this."

The animal turns on his heel and glares at the angel. "Who the fuck are you? This is a private party."

His eyes are black as the coal the souls are roasted on; his mouth is a twisted version of what Castiel imagines was once a smile, his face is set in hard, harsh lines. Everything about this being screams abomination.

Everything, but his hand. The limb that is holding the razor trembles. Not from exhaustion or lack of use, but from an urge to put it down. To stop the carnage that he has been conditioned to crave.

Dean Winchester smirks at him. "Did you hear me you son of a bitch?"

Castiel feels rage fill him as he looks at the man. The man who had once been righteous and good.

The power bestowed on him by God bubbles up from deep within him.

"You get your rocks off watching or what? Cause I want your name **now**. Or I could just cut it out of you." He glances towards his blade before his blackened eyes settle back on Castiel.

The force bestowed on him by his Heavenly Father bursts out of him in a beam of light.

"I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord."

Dean Winchester pulls his hand down from his eyes and Castiel can see that they are now clear of the poison, of the taint that had consumed them moments before. The eyes he sees now are hazel and full of fear.

"An Angel? No such thing. You're just a bedazzled demon. No such thing." The weapon clatters against the ground as he drops it and moves away from his victim.

"I have come to save you Dean Winchester." The angel takes a step towards him, surprised at the yelp that the man lets out.

"Save me? I'm just…" he pauses and casts his gaze around for something as Castiel extends a hand towards him.

His fingers barely brush the man's arm but the skin hisses and Dean Winchester howls out in agony.

Castiel has to close his eyes as every moment of this human's existence filter into his mind. Every joke, every embrace, every kill, every tear, every injury, every word, every breath, every second that has compiled this man's life is played out before him.

"Don't touch me!" he screams and when Castiel's eyes open back up there is another demon standing before him.

Dean Winchester clutches at Alistair's arm as the monster mutters. "No."

This man can be saved; this man deserves to be saved. Castiel knows it now.

"Alastair, don't let him…don't you fucking touch me!" Dean recoils away from the angel's hand and closer to his master.

The demon named Alistair looks at a loss for words as he tries to shove Dean away from him.

Fear and revulsion is painted across both of their faces.

"I will save you Dean Winchester; by the grace of our Father you will be redeemed." His hand reaches out and grabs hold of the hysterical soul as it flays and screams and fights with every ounce within it to get free.

Dean's skin chars where Castiel has him held fast. Alistair falls back into the shadows and abandons his student in the arms of the angel.

Castiel spares a sad glance to Dean as the man sinks his teeth into his hand, reduced to barely more than an animal. But, Castiel has seen that he had been so much more; that he will be so much more again.

"Please, _please._" Dean whimpers as he looks up at the angel.

He clamps down hard, unwilling to let this soul slip through his fingers.

The fight goes out of Dean so suddenly that Castiel has to look down to make sure he has not dropped the man.

"I'm not…I can't," his head lowers in shame.

"No soul can do anything so vile that it would become unworthy of God's love."

There is a noise below him that sounds like a strangled sob.

Castiel grips Dean Winchester tight and raises him from perdition.


End file.
